


cherry

by GreenLies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Blood, Concerts, F/F, Fluff, Hook-Up, Makeup, Modeling, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenLies/pseuds/GreenLies
Summary: Miwa raises an eyebrow. "You’re special. It’s rare to meet someone like you."Alisa doesn’t know what she means by that, isn’t sure she wants to. But Miwa, Miwa thinks- well, Alisa doesn’t know. Miwa is casual in her beauty, allows it to ebb and flow like a river, gentle and innocent until Alisa is pulled under by it, wondering just what had happened to get her there."That night," Alisa says. "What would you have done if I'd stayed?"
Relationships: Haiba Alisa/Kageyama Miwa
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Haikyuu WLW Bang





	cherry

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAA
> 
> HELLO HELLO before we jump in, a few notes are in order.
> 
> HUGE thank you to [christy](https://twitter.com/cosmogonyAO3), my beta! it was a pleasure working with you. thank you for getting my work to where it is and being patient with me!!! also to [effie](https://twitter.com/bluenimi), for your ideas. and finally, i cannot give enough gratitude to [Nen](https://twitter.com/nen_k0), my artist, who has been completely lovely during this entire process. thank you for bringing my work to life. 
> 
> this fic has art! you can check it out [here](https://twitter.com/Nen_K0/status/1370037753338077189) and [here!!](https://twitter.com/Nen_K0/status/1370038029906280448)
> 
> (ps. small warning for blood at the beginning of this story. it's not gory or explicit, but if that's something you're uncomfortable with, it begins at "someone breaks through" and ends at "she's still shaking")

It all starts quite simply: a band, a drink, and a beautiful woman that’s going completely crazy as she dances. 

Alisa watches from the edges of the crowd, sipping something sweet that she can’t remember the name of. But this woman has caught her eye, body twisting and pulling, leaving trails of fire on the dance floor. Body moving, and Alisa is drawn to her - drawn to her liquid movements, and the glimmer in her eye. _Look at me. Watch me. Don’t take your eyes off me again._

And Alisa finds that she couldn’t if she tried. 

She takes another sip. Her drink is red and is slowly turning her hand cold, condensation forming on the plastic cup. The bass pounds through her chest and she can feel the energy of the crowd seeping into her, making her skin thrum with excitement. The woman she’s watching seems to harness it as she throws her head back, whooping with exhilaration. 

Alisa catches a smile forming over her face. 

Nights like these, where she can let go, nights like these are the ones she relishes. People in the crowd tumbling and falling, being swallowed and spat out again and coming back for more. The strange, dreamless lapse where everyone is young again, fresh and impulsive and free. 

She is still in her own head when someone shoves her from behind. It’s not malicious - it’s not, and she knows this. She drops her cup, the plastic immediately getting crushed beneath someone’s heavy boot, and just like that she’s thrust into the chaos. 

She feels someone’s arm against her back, and another on her shoulders. She’s pushed and pulled, shoved this way and that, and the world is tilted and jagged, sharp edges cutting into her thoughts suddenly, spilling them across the floor. The energy has infected her - she throws her arms up, twists her hips and dances as though she can’t stop, as though she’s being forced, as though she’ll do it up until she collapses. 

The crowd seems to ripple around her, bending easily to her every move, as though she can control them with just a flick of her hand. Here, now, there is nothing and everything. There is a bubble; it is only her and her body and the beat of the drum. 

And then someone breaks through. 

The pain is sharp and sudden, and the illusion shatters. Alisa gasps, and already something is exploding in her brain, crawling its way up her forehead, snaking between her eyebrows and consuming. She gasps and becomes acutely aware of something hot and wet and thick dripping down her face. 

She presses a hand to her nose, delirious, and feels a stream of blood. The lights are no longer comforting, but confusing; she cannot stay afloat and begins to fall, her vision flickering, slumping over. It doesn’t make much of a difference. The crowd continues to hold her upright. 

Everyone is yelling, still, and Alisa is about to panic when she feels a hand in hers. She’s unceremoniously dragged through the crowd of people, who make room, and she can see the blood dripping onto the floor from between her fingers. One of her eyes is already beginning to swell. 

The person leading takes her into the bathroom, forces her onto a closed toilet seat, and shoves her head between her knees. A hand pats her back hesitantly as Alisa collects her bearings. 

The bathroom is dingy and the music can still be heard if she strains. She pulls her hand away from her nose and blood immediately splatters onto the floor. 

“Now, let’s not do _that,”_ a voice chides and Alisa’s hand shakes as she brings it back to her face. A wad of paper, far more comfortable than her own fingers, beats it there. 

Alisa lets herself be cared for like a child as the person in front of her begins to rub soothing circles on her back while holding the tissue for her. Her mind sharpens with every passing moment, and it doesn’t take long for the blood flow to stop. 

She’s still shaking when she finally gathers the courage to look up from the gentle hand that tended to her. It is the same woman from earlier, and she’s even more beautiful up close; dark eyes that seem to hold the world’s secrets, and a few freckles dotting her nose. 

“Are you okay?” 

Alisa gingerly pats her face. Her hand is still red, and her eye is tender, but the immediate problem has been treated. “I’m okay.” 

“Do you want to go home, or…”

“No, I’m fine.” She stands up on shaky legs, a baby deer, and gathers her bearings, heading towards the sink to wash her hands. “Thank you. For helping me.” 

“I couldn’t just let you fall. Especially not when you were staring at me all night.” There’s a glimmer in the other woman’s eyes. Alisa wants to taste it, the strange desire that’s settled over her skin, making it feel too tight in the wrong places. 

She takes a chance, grabbing the hand the woman reaches out to her, stroking her thumb over her knuckles, letting a soft laugh escape. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” But the woman enjoys the compliment, if her pink cheeks are anything to go by. 

Alisa could push harder, could make the woman flush red to her chest easily, could take her desire and return it tenfold. She knows this, the effect she can have, has spent years perfecting it. Underneath it all, Alisa is still human, still wants. 

But now is not the time or the place, so Alisa decides to simply give her something to remember. She lifts the other woman’s hand slowly, presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

She can see the woman’s pupils dilate and her breath hitch, but Alisa is already gone, wiggling her fingers in a wave as she opens the door. “It was lovely meeting you.” 

After making her escape, she treads forward until she’s sufficiently camouflaged, the crowd consuming her once more. Her skin is too hot, and her heart is racing. She can still feel the woman’s touch on her fingers and basks for a minute in the tingling that was left behind. 

Alisa takes a deep breath, shaking off the invisible marks left by this stranger. Someone shoves her from behind, and she lets them. 

⧞⧞⧞

The next moment of importance is almost two weeks later. The swelling of Alisa’s eye has faded down to a pale yellow, and she’s just gotten on a plane from Tokyo to Sapporo. 

Alisa enjoys flying; she was lucky enough not to inherit her father’s fear of heights. She likes to watch the ground shoot away, to be level with the clouds, and feel her ears pop when the pressure rises enough. 

She isn’t that big of a name, not yet, but this is her first shoot outside her hometown. The flight was paid for by one brand of makeup, insisting that they wanted to have an _authentic city shoot_ , and her manager pretended not to hear Alisa complaining that Sapporo _was_ a city, dammit. 

As much as she enjoys flying, she’s grateful that it’s short; being on a plane for too long would make her legs hurt and her skin dehydrate, and she needs neither when she’s doing what may be the biggest advert of her career so far. There’s no shiny car or chauffeur waiting for her, but she hails a taxi to take her to the name they had given, the hotel she would be staying at. Her knee bounces with nerves; nervous to meet the company members, nervous for her shoot, nervous, nervous, nervous. 

The ride goes entirely too quickly, but when she gets to the hotel, there _is_ someone waiting for her. The man she had spoken to over the phone - short, dark hair and angry eyes, but the smile he gives her lights up his face. “Alisa.” 

She bows shortly, gripping her bag. “Iwaizumi-sama.” 

“Please, just Iwaizumi is fine.” He leads the way, and she lengthens her gait to keep up. “Thank you so much for coming. We’re all very excited to have you here.” 

“Thank you for sponsoring me.” She tries to keep her voice level as Iwaizumi leads her up a grand set of stairs. 

“I understand you must be tired, so we already have your room ready. You’ll meet everyone tonight at dinner.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Alisa wore high heels and is beginning to regret it, because when Iwaizumi stops walking, she realizes she’s looking down at him. She hastily steps back. 

“Of course. Although I must warn you, there is a slight mishap.” 

“Oh?” They’re standing in front of a doorway, the room she presumes is hers. 

“There were more people on the team that volunteered than expected, so you’ll be sharing a room. I truly apologize - we weren’t notified until early this morning.” 

Alisa shakes her head. “That’s fine! It’s not a problem at all.” 

“Oh, but you should know-”

“Don’t worry about it, honestly. I’m very grateful to be here.” Alisa flashes him a smile, and he returns it with a tinge of relief. She wonders what kind of clients he may have had in the past that would throw a fit over something as trivial as sharing a room. 

Iwaizumi hands her the room card. “Here’s your key. Dinner is at seven, and we’ll meet in the lobby. Feel free to relax in the meantime.” 

Alisa hitches her bag higher and sighs gratefully. “I can’t thank you enough for all of this, Iwaizumi.” 

“It is my job.” He nods at her, eyes warm, and stares for a moment before blinking. “Let me know if you need anything else. If not, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Sounds good.” He’s gone in a moment, and she fiddles with the room key until the door opens. She’s ready to collapse and nap before dinner - except someone is already there. 

In her room. 

On the _singular_ bed. 

Oh, god. 

The woman is facing away from her, so Alisa can only see the lines and curves of her body. Slim waist, long legs, and black hair that falls just past her chin. She’s beautiful, objectively, at least from behind. 

Then she turns around at the intrusion and Alisa feels her heart stop, because she knows this woman. 

She’s seen her before. 

The woman’s lips curve up into a stunning smile, something sinister brewing behind it. “Hello, stranger.” 

Alisa feels herself walking towards the bed before she can process what’s happening. She sits down next to the woman, stretching out her legs. “Hi,” she manages. 

She’s cursing internally - it’s not usually _like this._ Alisa is used to being able to play it cool -- it would be a crime not to, especially in her line of work. But this is different. There’s nothing in this woman’s eyes that suggests she’s starstruck, or impressed, or anything else that Alisa has seen a hundred times before. 

“I never did catch your name.” Her voice is smooth, flowing over Alisa in waves. She wants to drown in it. The woman’s eyes follow her, examine her every movement, and Alisa feels, for a moment, deliciously seen. 

“Alisa. And you?” 

The woman sits back against the headboard, close enough to touch. “I’m Miwa. I’m going to be doing your makeup.” 

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Alisa is taken aback, even more so. The woman at the concert - the woman that’s in her bed - the woman that apparently will be nose-to-nose with her in the next twenty-four hours -

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Miwa.” 

“Likewise,” and Miwa’s smile is that of an animal, feral, someone who has found her prey and intends to gorge on it. “I’m excited to work together.” 

Alisa smiles back. “I didn’t realize we would be in such… _close_ quarters.” 

“Mm, they didn’t tell me. It’s not a problem, is it?” Her gaze drops to Alisa’s lips, and Alisa can feel her armpits dampening with sweat, her heartbeat amplifying yet again. There’s just something - _something_ about Miwa, the way she looks right at Alisa’s eyes, the way that every word is spoken with intention, slow and honeyed. Alisa feels like she’s jumping from foot to foot, privy to fall into a trap she cannot see. It’s intoxicating, and it’s overwhelming, and it’s the last thing she needs when this shoot could cost Alisa her career. 

The realization hits her quickly and she stands, flinging her legs off the edge of the bed, prior exhaustion suddenly gone. “I need to go. I-” She almost trips but rightens herself. “I’ll be back.” 

Miwa’s mouth is open in a small pucker, brows furrowed in surprise. Alisa shakes it off, giving a weak wave and stumbling out into the hall. 

She presses her forehead against the cool plaster and takes deep breaths. In. Out. Miwa is addicting, and she is beautiful, and she makes Alisa feel as though she’s burning. It’s a dangerous thought. In. Out. 

Alisa is a _model,_ for gods’ sake. She shouldn’t be this intimidated by someone so beautiful, not when it’s a constant for her, being surrounded by women who look like they could be on the cover of _Vogue._ But Miwa is casual in her beauty, allows it to ebb and flow like a river, gentle and innocent until Alisa is pulled under by it, wondering just what had happened to get her there. 

She can’t take this risk. Another day, another time, maybe; but Miwa has fire in her eyes, and if Alisa steps too close, she’ll get burned. 

There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. Alisa goes towards it, splashes water on her face until it feels relatively cool and the redness has faded, albeit slightly. 

It’s fine; she’ll be fine. 

When she comes back into the room, Miwa is sitting on the edge of their shared bed, staring at her knees. She looks almost bashful, and Alisa watches as she tucks her short black hair behind one ear and smiles. It’s soft, pretty, a different person than she had initially seen. 

Perhaps Miwa is trying on masks; tying them behind her head, staring at Alisa to see if she’ll like them. It’s her job, after all, to make the client comfortable. Soft. Fiery. Alisa wants them both. 

“I’m going to take a nap,” Alisa announces. Miwa nods, eyebrows turned up, still sporting that soft, vulnerable expression. 

She slides between the sheets. They’re soft, silky against her skin, and she sighs in comfort. After the day, it’s easy to drop off into nothingness. The fatigue from the flight and the events after seep into her, swirl around, send exhaustion through bones. Before she knows it, she’s out. 

Miwa is the first thing she sees when she wakes - she’s shaking Alisa’s shoulder, the gentle touch of someone who has spent years perfecting it. “Wake up. Our dinner is soon.” 

Alisa gets up, runs a brush through her hair and rubs the sleep off of her face. She’s worried - about the dinner, about the people, about coming down with Miwa. She feels like a baby bird, stumbling into a completely new world, one where vultures are circling and will bite off her head if she shows any form of weakness. 

Miwa is watching her through the mirror, posed in the doorway, and Alisa catches her eye. She’s one of them, Alisa knows. 

But still, when she gets to Miwa she decides to give one small kindness, holding out her elbow. “M’lady?” 

Miwa smiles and grips it. Gentle fingers. Gentle hands. “I’m honored.” 

They walk to the ballroom still linked. Alisa resists the urge to giggle like a child, overcome with nerves at the idea of something so new. It won’t be much at all, really, just something informal to meet her crew. The photographers and models and managers - excitement swells up inside of her, almost too big to hold, and it’s beginning to sink in. She’s here. _Here,_ in Tokyo, her flight paid for, her hotel booked. Here for a shoot. Here for something she had wanted and wanted. 

Who would have believed it? 

Dinner is uneventful. She tries to remember the names and positions, swirls the wine around her glass and takes small, bitter sips. Miwa sits next to her, a steady presence, a vicious energy radiating off of her. She’s back to how she was when Alisa first walked in. 

Alisa wants more, instinctively, wants to catch Miwa’s mouth against hers and let her take. But she also wants to keep herself level, to wait until she’s finished before letting anything happen. She doesn’t know what she wants - Miwa is an enigma, and it’s making Alisa’s head spin. 

The dinner is over too soon, but it’s late and Alisa has had just enough wine to be a bit tipsy when she gives everyone a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye. Miwa and her walk out as one, back towards the room. 

The elevator ride is silent. They haven’t had a true conversation since Alisa had walked in earlier that day, and yet the air is warm enough to cut through, settling over Alisa, sinking into her skin. It buzzes just underneath, making her reckless. 

Her brain battles itself, and Alisa tries to hang on. 

They get ready for bed and climb in, still silent. Alisa is wide awake, her nap earlier satiating the need for sleep, at least now. Miwa lies still, but Alisa senses that she’s awake too - her breathing too shallow and not even. 

They manage for about five minutes before Alisa turns to her. 

“Miwa.” 

“Hm?” Miwa turns as well, and she looks ethereal - hair spread onto the pillow, held up by one of her arms, eyes dark and silent in the night. 

Alisa lets her head drop onto the mattress. “That night, at the concert.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What would you have done if I stayed?” 

Miwa smiles, and Alisa feels something rush through her, warning her. The smile is of someone who already knows, and it sends nerves tingling down her spine. It makes her dizzy. It gives her a disgusting sort of anticipation. “Alisa, all you need to do is ask.” 

Alisa grabs her and kisses her. 

It’s all warm, lips and tongue, and she tastes like mint still. Alisa had initiated, but it is Miwa who takes, indeed - exploring Alisa’s mouth with her tongue, fingers tracing along her hips, heaving herself up so her legs bracket Alisa’s waist. 

“Miwa-” 

Miwa breaks apart their lips, instead choosing to trace a line of kisses up Alisa’s neck. She’s panting, and it’s embarrassing. She’s used to being in control. She’s used to making others squirm. She’s not used to this vulnerability, but she doesn’t say that. Instead, she lets one hand tangle into Miwa’s hair and allows her head to fall back.

Miwa resumes with a passion, attacking her lips and then her neck, and Alisa groans, arms giving out. Miwa didn’t seem to mind, tonguing over the shell of her ear and sliding a knee up between her legs. Alisa can do nothing but let herself fall, and let Miwa overwhelm her. 

Outside, the city lights make their silhouettes glow.

⧞⧞⧞

The next morning, she wakes up entangled in the sheets. She’d been clutching them in her sleep, and slowly wrings out her hand, shaking off the pins-and-needles to let some feeling return. 

There is no regret, not like she had expected anyway, calamity opening a cavern inside her chest. When she swings her legs over the edge of the bed, dragging the blankets with her, Miwa snuffles into the pillow and Alisa takes a moment to watch. She’s all limbs, arms and legs strewn across the mattress, the rising sun hitting her and illuminating all of it - the good, yes, but there’s something grotesque; a small scar that lines her back and the angry red marks on her face from the covers. She sleeps soundly. Her mouth is drawn up into the slightest pout. 

Alisa pulls on clothing, a pair of shorts and a soft, ragged T-shirt, the kind that has been worn for so long it hangs off her body in an unsavory fashion. She doesn’t want to compete with Miwa, not anymore; she’s no longer trying to win her over so much as wanting them to be on even footing after last night.

There. Now they could both be ugly. 

A quick glance at the clock says it’s only nine in the morning, and the shoot is at twelve. There’s nothing left to do but wait, and so Alisa does exactly that, stepping out onto the balcony and sitting cross-legged in the chair out there so she can peruse the book she’s been reading. She feels a bit denser than usual, words taking longer to sink in. 

She’s completed almost ten pages when the balcony door slides open and Miwa stands there, wearing sweatpants and her hair messy, looking significantly more human and significantly less angelic than she had thirty minutes prior. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning,” Alisa replies, looking back off the balcony. It’s a beautiful view, high and looking out over the city. Tokyo is different during the day, no longer bathed in bright lights. The tension is palpable. Alisa breathes it in, lets it spread over her lungs. “How did you sleep?” 

Miwa lets out a soft sigh behind her. “Alright. Was pretty cold when I woke up.” She doesn’t sound angry, but there’s something in her voice that’s clipped, vulnerable. Alisa tries to grab her words, do damage control. 

“Do you-” 

“I think-” 

They start at the same time. Alisa lets out a light giggle, holding up her hand. “You first.” 

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you wanted to get breakfast. With me?” A light blush dusts Miwa’s cheeks. Alisa looks at her, really looks at her, and is overtaken by her simple beauty. 

“I…” She doesn’t know what to say. Words don’t come to her as easily now, when Miwa has stolen the first move and spread it in front of her. 

“We don’t have to,” Miwa tells her hurriedly, and she looks neutral, but her voice is still withdrawn and a small crease has formed between her brows and Alisa hates it. 

“No! I do. Want to. Where do you want to go?” 

Miwa smiles. “There’s a place down the street I went to a couple of years back.” 

_Years?_ But Miwa has already drifted back inside, seemingly enticed by the idea of a warm breakfast overlooking the sunny city. Alisa squints against the bright light before following her. 

For someone who looks so silent, Miwa is remarkably talkative as they walk to the restaurant. Alisa lets her, chiming in occasionally but for the most part just listening to her rant about the weather or Tokyo or the company that sent her the wrong brushes last week. How strange it is, hearing from the other side of the story, someone who sees her career through the same sense but a different lens. 

They don’t speak about the night before. 

The restaurant is small and mostly empty when they arrive. Alisa folds her long legs under the table as Miwa grabs two menus, and they sit across from each other, and Alisa pretends that she isn’t staring as Miwa scans the menu, a small crease forming between her brows. 

She still feels warm, something aching in her chest and dripping down her spine, a desire of the strangest kind. She thought she had left it tangled between the sheets last night, or even before that, thought she had swallowed it with her cherry wine or kept it shimmering in the air as Miwa spoke. But it’s still here, louder than ever, immovable, and Alisa is trapped within herself. 

No matter; no matter, because Miwa is staring back, now, her lips curved into a razor smile, and the waiter comes over and Alisa orders the first thing she sees on the menu. 

After they’re alone, Miwa traces Alisa’s hand where it’s still resting on the table. Alisa jumps and looks at her again, feeling like a child, like a deer in headlights. Caught in something that shouldn’t be allowed; sitting on a secret that will come to light eventually. 

“Alisa,” she begins, an air of professionalism glistening and reaching out to choke Alisa. “About last night.” 

“Do we need to get into it?” Alisa asks, her voice edging a bit more desperately than she had hoped. But she isn’t ready to only have one or the other, isn’t ready to hear slimy regret or a halfhearted apology. She wishes to leave with the memory of Miwa on top of her, eyes locked, and to imagine that they had both fallen back satisfied. Of course, for her, it wasn’t an act; just as this morning, she has no regrets about what had happened. 

“I just think…” Miwa retracts her hand and instead perches it under her chin, staring at Alisa knowingly. “I just think we should be able to be honest with each other. Isn’t that what co-workers do?” 

Alisa meets her gaze. Tantalizing. Sharp. 

_Fine._

“You first.” 

Miwa smiles again. “Think of it this way. After this weekend, we’ll probably never see each other again.” 

And perhaps that’s true. Alisa wouldn’t know. The scene in Sapporo is a bubble, where everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads like wildfire. “And?” 

“And so we can do what we want here. There’s a guarantee that it won’t be weird after.” Miwa sparkles at her from across the table, and Alisa is suffocated. “That is, if you want to.” 

“Of course I do,” Alisa replies, mouth speaking before she can even listen. “I just, aren’t you-” 

_Aren’t you used to this? Don’t you have friends in other places?_

Miwa raises an eyebrow. “You’re special. It’s rare to meet someone like you.” 

Alisa doesn’t know what she means by that, and isn’t sure she wants to. But Miwa, Miwa thinks- well, Alisa doesn’t know. But Miwa wants to do what they did last night again, and maybe again after that. 

She lets her voice come out low. “Okay.” 

The food comes soon after, but Alisa can’t taste a thing. 

\--

The shoot itself is a whirlwind. She’s still running hot from their conversation over breakfast, but even that can’t dim the excitement she feels on her first Tokyo shoot. 

There’s just so _much -_ makeup artists running around, people yelling directions and someone ordering her into outfit after outfit after outfit. Another person would find it stressful, maybe, worrying or wondering, but this is what Alisa had worked for. The hustle and bustle and chaos, this is what she’s made to do. 

She plays the part exceptionally. There’s barely time to fawn over how gently Miwa brushes liner over her eyes before she’s whisked away to a blue background and forced into an outfit that glitters. After that, her instincts kick in, and it’s a simple routine. Makeup, outfit, shoot. 

By the end of the day, her eyes feel raw from the number of times different looks were pasted onto them, and her ankles hurt from walking on high heels all day. She’s exhausted and hungry and she’s sure her hair is going to be a pain to brush out, but underneath all that, she can’t stop smiling. 

Her head still reels as Iwaizumi thanks them all for a job well done and proposes a dinner to celebrate. Alisa wants to say no - she’d rather be sleeping, honestly - but everyone agrees enthusiastically, and she gets too caught up to refuse. 

When she gets back to her room after nearly six hours of being bushes and pulled and prodded at, she finally has a moment to breathe. 

Miwa is sitting on their bed, already donning a soft T-shirt and jeans. The dress code for tonight is casual, something the crew had agreed upon. She appears more relaxed than she had all day, no longer sporting a makeup brush or a furrowed brow. She doesn’t look up at first when Alisa enters, instead thumbing to the next page of her book painfully slowly before glancing up to meet her eyes. 

“You ready for the dinner?” 

Alisa swallows. “Have you done this before?” 

“It’s super informal,” Miwa replies. “There’s no need to worry. Iwaizumi just likes for everyone to relax after a big project.” 

“Ah.” She breathes out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she’d been holding. “He seems like a good person. Or a good boss, at least.” 

Miwa nods in agreement. “He’s really cool. Picked me up even though he knew I had no experience. If I had to work under someone, I’m glad it was him.” 

“If you had to?” 

“I want to work for myself, of course.” She sounds nonchalant, a dream lost on the wind. “Most artists do. It’s far-fetched, though.” 

“You definitely have the talent,” Alisa says, regretting it immediately. She was hardly more than a canvas - what would she know about what was needed for this kind of career?

But Miwa only laughs. “I’m glad you think so. You’d better start getting ready.” 

They walk down arm-in-arm again, this time a bit less hesitant than before. The path to the restaurant is fast, and when they arrive, the room is mostly full. There’s an overwhelming number of pretty people, ones she knew and ones she didn’t. Alisa clings instinctively to Miwa’s arm. 

After an initial hello, they’re seated in front of the feast. It’s a barbeque restaurant, fancier than Alisa is used to in her drunken post-nightclub runs. The ambiance is different from that of the shoot - where she had sensed strange competitiveness and strictness there, here people chat like they’re old friends. 

Before she can start feeling isolated, Iwaizumi leans across the table towards her. He’s still intimidating, but less so, now that Alisa has seen him down an old-fashioned and laugh at an awful joke the man with spiky grey hair made. “So, Alisa. How was your first shoot?” 

She smiles and finds that she doesn’t need to force it. “It was good. It was really, really good.” 

“I’m glad. That’s what we’re all about here.” He smiles at her, bright and shiny, and she nods. Then they run out of words, and he turns to smack a brunette boy across the back of his head, and she leans back. 

Alisa is content to watch. Miwa is next to her, eyes sparkling as she talks, and Alisa finds joy in noticing how one side of her smile is higher than the other when she gets passionate. 

The night moves languidly. Alisa stuffs herself with good food and sips her wine contentedly and makes small talk with those around her. A model from the next prefecture over. A hairstylist with a septum piercing. Lasting impressions, ones that make her head spin when she tries to remember. 

She’s out of her body, most of the night, watching from above, and it all together when she feels Miwa’s hand. It finds hers, and squeezes - _is this okay?_ \- and Alisa finds herself squeezing back in affirmation. 

Miwa’s hand is warm and small and soft and nearly overwhelming, every nerve in Alisa’s body standing on end. She can feel red running up to her cheeks, the rush of blood making her ears roar, and she seems to be looking through a blurred lens at the room. It’s difficult to focus on anything besides the contact of skin on skin, and the air, suddenly, seems too heavy. 

She coughs a bit with the strain, and it brings her back. Cool air fills her lungs suddenly, and then she’s jumped out of the chair. 

“I’m sorry,” she amends, although Iwaizumi and Miwa are the only two who seemed to notice her departure. “Bathroom.” 

It’s amusingly reminiscent of the first time, when she had run cool water over her face to distract herself from the entity that was Miwa. She’s an enigma. She’s beautiful. She makes Alisa burn. 

She comes into the bathroom a few minutes after Alisa does and leans against the sinks, watching unabashedly as Alisa runs one hand through her air, touches the apples of her cheeks to try and rub away the stain of blush that seems to be determined on sticking. “You okay?” 

Alisa nods. “Can we…” It still seems childish, asking the questions that they both know the answer to. She feels something peculiar at the prospect of luring Miwa away from her company, chest a bit too tight with guilt and something else she can’t name. So she shuts her mouth after that, stays silent as Miwa looks her up and down and up again. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” She asks, before Alisa has the chance to run. 

An odd urge to laugh spills over Alisa. “I mean, if you insist.” 

“I do.” And with that, she has her hands over Alisa’s, leading her out of the bathroom and finding some excuse to placate their team. 

The ride home is silent, tinged with an awkwardness that the driver in the front seat doesn’t seem to pick up on. Miwa keeps a pinkie linked with hers, but otherwise doesn’t speak, and Alisa shifts in her seat. 

When they reach their room, however, Miwa is all over her, kissing every inch of skin she can find. Alisa lets her have it, fisting a hand into her hair and letting her drag them to the bed. But something is wrong - it’s too warm and Miwa is frantic, and she doesn’t know where to begin. 

“Wait,” She says, and then again. “Wait.” 

Miwa pulls off and looks at her, lips swollen, eyes unfocused. “What?” 

She’s panting. They’re both panting, and Alisa lets her head hit the pillow. Miwa gets off of her, lies down on the other side, and although Alisa isn’t watching, she can sense Miwa looking at her. 

It takes a moment to gather the words, ones that had been building the whole time but that she couldn’t articulate. She’s still not sure. “I don’t know if this is what I want.” 

“What?” Miwa doesn’t sound hurt, only confused. 

“I mean. I want--” The words don’t come out. Alisa is an established woman, clean, organized, but the words don’t come out. “I want all of it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t… I’m not sure.” Alisa tries to get her breathing under control. She can feel Miwa’s body heat from the other side of the bed. “What are we going to do after this?” 

There’s silence, and so she continues, albeit a bit desperately. “I can’t tell how you feel. If you just wanted to… if you just… I don’t know if I’m right. If you just wanted that.” 

Miwa is quiet but the line of communication is clear. Even then, it takes her a moment to begin speaking. “Then what do you want?” 

“I want more.” Alisa laughs, a little panicked, her heart split open between them. “It’s not like I’m indifferent about this. It feels like I’ve known you longer than I have, I don’t know.” 

“I can talk to you,” Miwa says, but it’s as though she’s intruding on something private, as though this lament isn’t meant for Alisa’s ears. “This morning, at breakfast. I can’t talk to people like that. But I talked to you.”

“I just want to be able to get it in the open,” Alisa tells her. She’s turned on her side, now, watching Miwa’s chest rise and fall with her breaths. They never bothered to turn on the lights, so the large moon is the only thing that retracts the dimness. “I don’t want you to think this is purely clinical for me. It isn’t.” 

Miwa says, “I meant what I said. Before. I’ve never met anyone like you.” 

“So what do you want?” Alisa asks. “Put it out in the open. Tell me what you want.” 

“I don’t know.” A bird hoots outside. “You’re just- it’s so far. Everything is.” 

“I won’t be there forever,” Alisa replies. “I can’t make my way to the top in Sapporo. But I need to focus on my career.” 

“Are you asking me to wait for you?” A laugh plays on her lips, stained with something vulnerable as an aftertaste. 

“I’m not asking anything.” Miwa finally looks at her. “I’m not going to try and hang on. I just want you to know that this wasn’t empty, for me.” 

“It isn’t for me either. It’s not, Alisa, but we just-- it’s been two days. I can’t promise something to you.” 

Alisa nods. “I don’t want you to. I just want to be on even ground.” She pauses. “If I lived here-- if we weren’t so far-- would you want to see me again?” 

“Of course I would,” Miwa replies, as though it isn’t even a question. 

“I’ll be back someday,” Alisa says. “To Tokyo. But I want to do it on my own.” 

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. There’s still a crystallized statement, something neither of them have said, but Miwa nods, and everything is silent. 

⧞⧞⧞

It takes six months, but true to her word, Alisa returns. 

It’s sporadic. Alisa sees other girls, and she knows Miwa probably does as well. They call occasionally and text nearly constantly, and Alisa knows that while she’s seeing others, none of them make her feel the same. She holds onto a dream with both hands, and after half of a year, she’s able to make it come true. 

It’s not easy; of course, it’s never easy, but when she’s home, the work increases. Being accepted to a popular brand comes with more sponsors, more people, more eyes on her. It starts small, a deodorant ad or a commercial. She meets people, socializes, gets a stack of official-looking business cards and starts wearing sunglasses in public. 

It feels good to do something for herself, by herself. Knowing the progress she’s made, and continues to make, brings a sense of relief. 

An agency finally signs her for a semi-permanent position, and she accepts without a second thought. After that, it’s a whirlwind -- paperwork, a haircut, a promise to keep in touch, and packing up her small apartment for a move one plane ride away. 

It takes several weeks to get acclimated. The rush she had felt her first night slowly wears off as she realizes it’s the same here as it is in most other places; her faucet leaks and her hairdryer gets too hot sometimes, and the grocery store near her is always full of people that try to cut the checkout line. Even so, she has a stable career there, and she’s pleased with the progress. 

The final stage comes with a text from Miwa as Alisa, wrapped up in her coat, is waiting for the train: _what are you up to?_

Alisa hadn’t told her. It had felt unfamiliar, as though she would jinx her work and wake up knowing that all her dreams were still out of reach. But standing in the city, phone lighting up in her hands, is the first time it feels real. 

Her fingers are drafting a message before she knows what’s happening. _where r u?_

The bar is a ten-minute ride away from where she’s standing. Miwa texts her the address, and although Alisa hasn’t told her, she must know. 

Their reunion is less magical and more one that’s messy; lips and tongue and teeth. Alisa’s nerves nearly overload when Miwa reaches out, gives her a fiery hug that makes her feel as though she’s melting from the inside out. Her dreams and phone calls hadn’t prepared her, not after six months of drought. Miwa, unknowingly, takes, and Alisa lets her. 

“What do you want to do?” Miwa asks, after the initial greeting has been finished. 

“I think… I think we should just get a drink,” Alisa answers. “Get a drink. And then we can talk.” 

Miwa smiles, and raises her hand for a waiter.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they get married the end 
> 
> massive shoutout to all my mods - i'm endlessly grateful for the opportunity to show some love to our haikyuu girls. this whole event was a total blast. 
> 
> if you've gotten this far, thank you for reading. i'll see you all next time <3


End file.
